Nightingale
by Multifaceted Melancholic
Summary: Because beauty was not to be admired or envied; it was to be feared. The more you have, the more you ultimately lose.


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**The Nightingale**

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**Summary: Because beauty was not to be admired or envied; it was to be feared. The more you have, the more you ultimately lose.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except my random and oftentimes eccentric bursts of imaginativeness. Naruto is the property of Kishimoto Masashi, and 'The Emperor and the Nightingale' is written by Hans Christian Andersen, copyright Osborne Publishing. **

**Started way back in July, temporarily abandoned, now reborn as a tribute to the dead… WHY DID NEJI HAVE TO DIE!? *Wails heart-brokenly***

**Ahem, back to the story...**

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A gentle wind blew softly across a large traditional garden, host to several rare flowers and aromatic herbs, with overhanging trees whose thick foliage was beginning to show the tell-tale shades of rust and gold. Leaves crackled and whispered soothing lullabies in the breeze; but autumnal creaking aside; there was only utter silence, a distinct _lack_ of noise that characterized the serene sanctuary. A formal garden, cleanly raked, not a leaf out of place, maintained to perfection for a single purpose: to awe the simple visitors with the owners' grandeur.

A beautiful garden, but an impractical one; for it belonged to shinobi, a prominent clan with neither time nor interest to spare on the nurturing of ephemeral decorative plants.

No, the Hyuugas had better things to 'nurture', if indeed their rigorous training and punitive brain-washing could be called such. Behind the _shoji _doors, two little girls awaited daily intense coaching from their steely-eyed father, who inspected their marginal progress with the same critical tilt of head he adopted while assessing his pristine garden.

A shadow flitted through the corridor bordering the expansive courtyard, making no more noise than the curling of browning leaves. The shadow solidified into the lithe form of seven-year old Hyuuga Neji, carrying a large brown tome in his young hand.

One might simply pass off the matter as a child with his favorite book, but the disgust in the boy's silver eyes and the disdainful way he held the edges of the leather-bound volume like a piece of stale bread spoke otherwise.

A careful examination of the lad's posture and body language would enlighten the astute observer that Neji was trembling with emotion; anger most definitely, but also a guilty surreptitious undertone that characterized misbehavior.

The book in his hand was unlike the usual scrolls and volumes that could be found upon the erudite branch child's person; bound in rich leather and animal skin unlike the cheap paper of the academy-issued textbooks, or practical reinforced parchment of his father's bingo book - which Neji liked to flick through without really reading, just to remind himself of the owner long gone. (The Hyuuga texts were even thicker than the bingo book, but of course Neji was not old enough to have access to those, no matter how desperately he sought to become stronger, smarter, faster, _freer_…)

It was, by rights, his cousins' book, passed on to them by their deceased mother. A book of children's tales, from which the former matriarch would read to her firstborn, a practice recently adopted by Hinata with her baby sister Hanabi. The toddler would sit obediently on her elder sister's lap, cooing excitedly at the colorful illustrations. Neji wondered bitterly whether their sisterly affection would survive the judgmental pupil-less eyes of the clan and the clash of destiny. After all, Hanabi would be branch someday, wouldn't she?

Grimacing at the thought, Neji redirected his attention towards the object of his frustrations. _Illustrated Fairytales from the Edo period_. A book he was not supposed to have; a book Neji hated with passion. One story rankled the boy in particular:

_The Emperor and the Nightingale._

The illustration showed an old man with crinkled skin and kind smile, dressed in lavish clothes that most shinobi would find abhorrent (a waste of hard earned money from missions, sweated and slaved and bled and died for), his long hair rather similar to the Hyuuga Head of Clan's. And wasn't Hiashi an emperor in his own right, lording over the clan and surrounded by the servants of the branch?

The plot was quite simple, infantile to his keen mind.

_**The Emperor of China was old and wise. He was loved by his subjects and courtiers, and was popular with the monarchs of other nations as well. **_

No one treated his uncle with anything other than absolute respect; to an outsider unaware of Konoha politics, the Hyuuga head might even seem well-loved, judging by the number of people that followed the stern man. But only the Hyuuga knew of the sheer power of autocracy and the absolute obedience of the cursed seal.

_**One day, the Emperor received a letter from a foreign dignitary who recently visited his lands. The letter read, "I have seen many wonders in the prosperous country of China, but none as beautiful as the nightingale's voice soothing weary travelers by the Yangtze river."**_

_**The Emperor had never heard of a nightingale singing in that region, as he was justifiably curious. Summoning his minister, he demanded the nightingale be brought to the palace.**_

_**The nightingale was honored by the request, and agreed to sing for the glorious ruler. Unaware of the inherent cruelty of humans, it dutifully performed its best and left the Emperor astounded. Fuelled by greed, the Emperor decreed the nightingale to stay and imprisoned it in a golden cage. **_

The Emperor made the nightingale sing and sing, as he cried tears of elation and joy at his good fortune to have such a wonderful bird in his realm. Every morning and every night, every meal and every event, the nightingale graced the Emperor's palace with her beautiful songs. And so, the Emperor was even more reluctant to let her leave, no matter how much she begged. His decision was final; the Nightingale sat solemnly in its gilded cage, the sparrows outside roamed free.

_Not all the gold and gems of the fancy cage could substitute for the gentle summer breeze and the forest's shady leaves…_

The Hyuuga opulence was his golden cage, and the geometrically-precise seal on his forehead was the emerald-bejeweled prison door. His beautiful voice imprisoned; his skills suppressed and manipulated to serve the Hyuuga heads _till death do them part_… and beyond, maybe.

It was the rule of the world - to be _special_ was to be _targeted_. The ordinary is not given a second glance. Neji had no qualms in acknowledging his title of 'genius'. He was well aware that he was the Nightingale, imprisoned by the suffocating traditional roles of the Branch family. Subjugation was his destiny; and he was a fool to resist.

_**But the Emperor soon grew weary of the drab and desolate bird. And so when he was gifted a mechanical singing bird made of pure gold, the Emperor did not hesitate to cast off the unimpressive fowl for the decorative replacement. It did not matter than the machine-bird knew only one song; for it shone and sparkled, and was clearly the better prize.**_

It was the nightingale's fate to be heard by the Emperor, as it was the nightingale's fate to be cast aside for a 'superior' replacement. Talent was a curse, and freedom was its price.

_Tch_. Face value. All power-hungry fools are influenced by it, by the lure of unflappable skill and deadly accuracy. The Hyuuga were much the same, lauding his excellence with the Byakugan while completely overlooking the inner strength that made Hinata so _Hinata_. Neji knew better, even if he chose to ignore it in favor of forcibly inflicting his pain unto his cousin; he knew that the year-younger Hinata was not to be written off, for she possessed inner strength and will and an astounding _lack_ of bitterness, no matter the burdens of her station. But there was little even Hinata could do against the law of the cosmos.

_If he were but a sparrow…_

If he were ordinary; not a Hyuuga, just an average boy from a clan-less family, or, even lower, a _civilian_ family (he shuddered, the disdain ingrained into him though he did not really know _why_ the common villagers were beneath his notice), how different would his life be?

For one, his father might still be alive. That itself was worth the ignominy of birth into a class which any true shinobi would dismiss without a second glance.

He would be completely normal, not bound to lay down his life for people he could barely tolerate, let alone protect. That was a definite plus; Neji did his role because he had to, unlike the upper echelons of the branch who fawned and flattered and curried favor to retain the illusion that they were in charge of their lives. (_Freedom is life's great lie…_)

Even if he was Hyuuga, and branch, if he had not been born with superior chakra and skills that surpassed several generations, his life might be a little less unfair. A branch Hyuuga could simply meld into the background of the illustrious Clan, as a servant or guard in the house. There would be no need to acquaint himself with the intrigue and deception of the main family, or with his fledging, inept, _weak_ little cousins. A quiet and peaceful life, unaffected by ugly clan politics or fateful imprisonment; an untroubled life - unseen, unimportant, _unfettered_….

Neji supposed that the opposite was also true. No one would place unreasonable expectations on mousy peaceable Hinata if _she_ was an insignificant branch member. Fate once again; it all boils down to birth and blood and _branch_…

He eyed an illustration of the woeful nightingale, staring out of the Emperor's window at the blooming garden encompassing the palace. It suddenly looked similar to the very garden he was currently hiding in, the main garden that was forbidden to those of his status. _And the dull brown feathers of the bird were the exact same shade as his hair…_

Neji slammed the book shut; then fearfully looked around to gauge whether the noise had been heard by anyone. His specialty was cold logic; why was he suddenly being so fanciful? It was the book's fault, probably.

Shaking his head, he ridiculed his thoughts; more to reassure than to retrospect. A nightingale... really, what an unbefitting analogy for a Hyuuga. No the Hyuuga were hawks, surveying territories and prey with omniscient eyes and deeming all beneath their notice; hawks who tore the feathers off guileless nightingales and then paraded their captives for all to see.

Neji itched to burn the stupid book of fairy tales, deceptive evils that sugar-coated bitter realities by weaving fantasy and enchantment into stories. No matter that his cousins (_masters_, his inner voice whispered insidiously) would not be pleased; particularly Hinata, who adored the hefty leather-bound inheritance to a ridiculous extent. Somehow, the young heiress' subdued resignation was worse to deal with than baby Hanabi's tantrums. Neji's nose wrinkled. _Though Hanabi's temper was bad enough_. Undoubtedly, the hell-spawn had been aptly named.

However, the child genius proceeded to do exactly that, confident in the knowledge that his latest bout of truancy would go unpunished, perhaps even rewarded. His prodigal talents gave him much leeway in the Hyuuga household, and it was no secret that Hyuuga Hiashi disapproved strongly of his daughters' fancy for the fairytale book. As far as the Hyuuga patriarch was concerned, such questionable literature had no place in a ninja household, especially one as illustrious as theirs. The real world was no place for idealists and dreamers; he would much prefer his daughters to familiarize themselves with the harsh realities of life.

Neji was not as proficient with _katon_ as the Uchiha; but for his purpose, a normal fire would suffice. Carefully and precisely, he held the ignited tip of a match-stick to the centre of the illustrated nightingale's brow. Closing his eyes, he imagined the burning of the caged bird seal activating, the crippling pain, white-hot, searing his forehead and spreading to the tips of his toes; _pain, pain, fire…_

With a start, Neji realized the burning in his fingers was real, and not a figment of his horrific memory. Dropping the matchstick on the smoldering pages, he nursed his digits, white eyes never straying from aged vellum.

_**The Emperor was so taken with the golden wonder that he never bothered to care for his once-cherished musical bird; the nightingale was left unsupervised, its services uncalled for. The nightingale accepted this with relief, waiting for its chance. One day, when the golden cage was not securely locked, the nightingale escaped its bars and flew to freedom.**_

The flame flickered, dimmed; as if mocking the efforts of his entire life. Suddenly angry, Neji lit matchstick after matchstick, fingers trembling, not caring for the spreading flame or his singed appendage; until the fire burned bright and roared his unspoken feelings.

Standing solemnly and expressionlessly as Hinata cried her woes to her father's deaf ears, only to be harshly reprimanded and sent to bed without dinner; Neji almost managed to convince himself that the roiling in his gut was vengeance, not guilt.

…

Neji never forgot that fire, because that event was his first act of defiance. And Uzumaki Naruto only punched home the point which Neji always knew, but buried within his heart just like the charred remains of an old children's book. _Even a captured bird, if smart enough, will try to open the cage with its beak… never giving up on its desire to freely fly in the sky…_

Sitting numbly on the hospital bed while Hiashi explained Hizashi's voluntary sacrifice for the brother he loved, Neji remembered a faded gild-edged illustration in a long-forgotten tome.

_**The Emperor grew tired of the golden bird's repetitive lute; longing for the gentle music of his precious nightingale. The mechanical voice droned the same song, creaking and whirring as its gears grew dull with age. And at last, it stopped singing altogether; and the Emperor was left to cry in silence. **_

_**The Emperor was devastated, his health dwindled; he left the running of the empire to his ministers, spending his days on his sick-bed lamenting his poor decisions. Until one day, he heard a glorious voice at his bedside.**_

The Nightingale had returned, perched upon the windowsill, trilling melodies to the ailing Emperor. The Emperor wept, and begged for forgiveness from the bird he so wronged.

Blessed by the nightingale's song, the Emperor recovered slowly, and he grew wiser than ever, as he realized the faults which drove him to sickness and heartache. The nightingale retained her freedom, frequently returning to her willow tree in the wild forest, but also giving the Emperor music and company in his aging days. The Emperor ruled justly and kindly, and when his time came, he said a soft goodbye and died peacefully of old age.

_As the Emperor lay dying in his opulent chambers, the nightingale returned of its own volition, feeding the emperor's soul with songs of freedom and faraway lands..._

Neji wondered whether he could ever grant such forgiveness, to accept the injustices meted out to him and deem his concern for his clan – no, _family_ – as above his grievances. And more so, he wondered; if given a chance to fly, would he ever be brave enough to return to the world of his nightmares?

_For the nightingale hated its cage, but not its Emperor..._

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**Shameless quoting: Who knows where 'Freedom is life's great lie' comes from? Wink wink! The one who guesses first will have my next work on that character dedicated to them~**

**Completely unrelated but recommended reading on the theme: The Frog and the Nightingale, poem by Vikram Seth. I won't say anything, except that you might find it interesting.**

**Personally, I rather like this piece. Please review and let me know what you think! Concrit much appreciated!**


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